You Can Take the Vampire Out of the Crypt
by Angelus1
Summary: Being alone in the house with Spike was really not conducive to developing selfrestraint, Buffy decided.


Title: You Can Take the Vampire Out of the Crypt...  
  
Author: Angelus  
  
E-mail: angelus1317@hotmail.com (Please put "Vampire out of the Crypt" on the subject line.)  
  
Subject: Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
  
Category: BSR  
  
Rating: Strong PG-13  
  
Summary: Being alone in the house with Spike was really not conducive to developing self-restraint, Buffy decided.  
  
Spoilers: "As You Were"  
  
Archive: Anywhere, just ask me first.  
  
Disclaimer: Yeah, right, sure I own 'em. In my dreams. Buffy, Spike, Willow, Tara, Joyce, and any other characters mentioned here are the property of Joss Whedon, UPN, and Mutant Enemy Inc. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Author's notes: This is completely out of canon - after Buffy and Riley blow up Spike's crypt, Buffy feels bad and lets Spike stay at her house. It's only when everyone else is gone that she can admit what an effect it's having on her...  
  
Dedication: To Josh, the best cousin ever. Nikki & I'll see you this summer.  
  
~*~  
  
Being alone in the house with Spike was really not conducive to developing self-restraint, Buffy decided. And the pesky vampire himself wasn't helping the situation much either.  
  
A year ago, she would have laughed in the face of anyone who had even hinted to her that in the future, she would be playing house with her mortal enemy. Yet here she was, cooking and cleaning for him - well, okay, nuking his blood then washing out the mugs and occasionally throwing a shirt or two in the washing machine - as he freeloaded in her mom's old room. The feeling was more than a little unnerving.  
  
He was being good, though, as per their agreement. He hadn't complained once about his blood not being the right temperature, or stupid like that. He was being so friendly and agreeable, in fact, that Buffy was on the verge of accusing him of being possessed. But even being on his best behavior couldn't stop him from driving the Slayer crazy - and in all the wrong ways.  
  
Last night had been one of the worst. She had awoken covered in sweat, her thighs sticky with her own juices, his name on her lips. What made the dreams worse, though, was that she had experienced most of them first-hand: Spike taking her in the back room of the Magic Box with Anya and Giles and the rest of the gang right outside; Spike riding her so hard and fast that they both blacked out from the pleasure; Spike throwing her down to the floor and giving it to her up the ass.....  
  
It gets her wet even thinking about it now. But that's the last thing she needs to do. What she really needs right now is to stop concentrating on Spike. Yes, he's upstairs this very moment in the shower - so very wet and so very hot and so very naked - but she doesn't care. Really she doesn't. The argument's losing its convincingness, however, because she's currently climbing up the stairs to the second floor landing.   
  
As she walks past, she can't help but stop to take a peek into his room. Well, technically it's her mother's room - always will be, in her opinion - but they've grown accustomed to calling it "his room" ever since he moved in here just a few short days ago, just like it was Willow and Tara's room not too long ago. She just finds it funny, how the room feels like all of them. The decorating is still the same as it's always been - she refuses to let that be changed. But traces of Willow and Tara still linger - incense sticks littering the dresser, a dress or two hanging forgotten in the back of the closet, stains on the carpet where Miss Kitty left a few not-so-pleasant gifts.   
  
And then there's Spike. He's only been here about a week, but still it's as if he's been here forever. She wouldn't have let him in if it hadn't have been for his crypt being effectively destroyed - and if she hadn't have felt so guilty for it. But nonetheless, here he is, claiming the room for his own. A potpourri bowl that he drug out of the closet sits on the bedside table, having now become his ashtray. The smell of its' smoke and tar, along with hair gel, peroxide, musty leather, motor oil, and alcohol all rolled into one, dominates the air. And, of course, his ever-present leather duster hangs on the back of the door, as if to remind her that he's still here.   
  
As if she needs reminding.  
  
Shaking her head, Buffy backs her way out of the room - halfway for fear that he'll somehow discover that she's been in there, halfway to save her own sanity. Continuing down the hallway, she reaches the door to the bathroom. Steam wafts from underneath the door, and she can hear his voice singing softly to himself. He'd probably be belting it out if she wasn't here. Just hearing the low, melodic murmur makes her knees buckle.  
  
With a deep breath, Buffy cracks open the door to the bathroom.  
  
What shocks her is just how clearly she can see the out line of his body. Being a vampire, his body is below room temperature - much below that of a normal human. Being that he is so cold, his body heat combined with the heat of the water cascading down his back fails to produce the steam that would usually cling to the transparent curtain, obstructing her view. Now, all she can see is pure, unadulterated Spike - his body long and hard and lean and pale and smooth and chiselled and muscular and tempting beyond belief. Everything is out in plain view: arms, calves, back, shoulders, chest, stomach, buttocks.......and even farther south. She takes in a breath that's more akin to a gasp, then quickly flees back downstairs, praying that he didn't hear her.  
  
Back in the living room, she admonishes herself for behaving like a twelve-year-old. Even Dawn would have shown more self-restraint than that. Well, a little more. But not only that, it's wrong. She knows it, he knows it, even if he won't admit it. She's the Slayer, he's a vampire. A vampire without a soul, for that matter. What they shared was wrong. Bad. *Very* bad. Letting him finger her in the DeSoto was *extremely* bad. So was sneaking into his crypt late at night and giving him a blow job to remember...  
  
Whoo, boy.  
  
It's going to be a *long* day. 


End file.
